In and Out of Time
by Rattlesnake Smile
Summary: Stiles Stilinski is feeling bored and frustrated with his life after high school. Especially after all of his friends have moved on and gotten lives of their own. Yet here Stiles is, waiting for something big and life-changing to just drop into his lap, but would he even recognize it if it happened?


_So, my Stiles one. I meant to have this up at least a week ago, but life happens, am I right? I had the hardest trouble with Stiles in relation to the characters from Heroes. Originally, he was going to be more along the lines of Mohinder Suresh, a doctor/scientist trying to discover people with abilities and how they work. But in the end, I decided on... well, you figure it out._

* * *

**In and Out of Time**

**"Use the Force Stiles"**

Stiles.

I know what you're thinking. What the hell is a Stiles? Well, that this guy's name. Yeah, him. The one leaning back in his chair behind the front desk, balancing a coffee cup full of pencils and pens on his forehead. Yep. That's Stiles. He gets bored pretty easily.

In case you were wondering, Stiles isn't his real name. I mean, what kind of parent names their child Stiles Stilinski? Though, in all honesty, you probably wouldn't even be able to pronounce his real name. One of his high-school teachers had even considered his name a form of child abuse. But anyway, that's why he went by Stiles instead. The reason behind the balancing act, however, well no one really knew what went on in Stiles' head except for Stiles.

Who would have thought working at an insane asylum could be so boring.

Granted, it probably wasn't that boring to the actual doctors and orderlies that had to deal with the crazies that roamed the halls, but to Stiles, this was pure torture. Especially if you factored in his ADHD. Just sitting behind a desk for hours at a time and filing paperwork while answering phones was driving him up the wall. Pretty soon he'd need his own padded room down the hall. You may be asking yourself: "Why is Stiles so bored?" Well, as stated above, he's constantly moving. Unfortunately for him he isn't qualified to go past the doctors' offices, let alone interact with the patients of the funny farm.

As Stiles leaned further back in his chair, he lost his balance and flailed, the cup of writing utensils falling from its perch and falling in slow motion toward the floor. No, seriously. Halfway on its trip to the floor, Stiles had managed to right himself and reached for it with a shout. The moment the sound left his lips, the cup had slowed its descent. Well, not just the cup. As Stiles looked around, he saw everything had slowed. The grandfather clock that ticked away endlessly in the corner of the foyer, it's pendulum had slowed in its arch while the second hand on his desk clock appeared to have stopped completely. Then there were the stacks of neatly organized papers Stiles had accidentally kicked during his flailing, arching artistically through the air, like big square leaves covered in rows of neat handwriting or a doctor's hurried chicken scratch. Wearing a confused expression, Stiles looked between all these weird occurences before he quickly grabbed the coffee mug that caused this incident in the first place. The moment he had a solid grip on the ceramic, time returned to its normal speed and the papers flying, clocks returning to their normal speed and the few pens that had fallen from the cup clattering to the floor.

Shaking his head, Stiles set the cup-o-pens back on the front desk and stood up to go collect the scattered paperwork.

"You are seriously loosing it, Stilinski." He muttered to himself as he knelt to pick up the pens first before moving to the papers now spread out haphazardly across the grand-foyer of the Eichen House lobby. "Pretty soon you're going to need a padded room of your own." As he gathered all the papers, he sat down cross-legged on the floor and started making piles around him of patient files and doctors notes, utilizing the floor space to get it done quicker. While he worked, the doors that led to the wing of doctor's offices opened and two individuals stepped out, one a man in a white doctor's coat and other a woman in an expensive black skirt suit.

"... everything's fine?" Dr. Deaton, Stiles boss, asked, looking over at the Japanese-American woman at his side, who despite being in fashionable heels, kept up their quick pace.

"Yes, the benefit went off without a hitch." The woman responded. "Talia, unfortunately, couldn't make it, but her son made an appearance in her stead. Shook hands and everything." She chuckled. "He certainly cleans up nicely. I swear, if he wasn't so good in the field, he would have made a perfect candidate for our plans."

"Talia would never have allowed it." Dr. Deaton said in response, his voice as deep and calm as the ocean. "And, in any case, I wasn't referring to the party. I was asking about the well-being of your daughter."

"Oh, Kira's fine." The woman waved a perfectly manicured hand at the question, dismissing any more concerns from the doctor. "She's being reprimanded, of course, but that's not exactly anything new." The two reached the end of the hall and spotted Stiles from his seat on the floor, surrounded by piles of paperwork and doing his best to make it look like he wasn't eavesdropping.

"Everything alright, Stiles?" Dr. Deaton asked.

"Yeah, I just knocked over a pile of stuff." Stiles replied with a smile. "Don't worry, Doc. I'll get it all sorted out before I leave." Dr. Deaton graced Stiles with his usual bemused smile, as if he knew something Stiles knew but didn't yet understand. Come to think of it, Dr. Deaton looked at everybody that way. Turning his gaze from his boss, he looked to the woman standing next to him. "Good evening, Mrs. Yukimura. You look lovely tonight."

Noshiko Yukimura looked down her nose at Stiles like he was something that she had stepped in before she turned back to Deaton with a flick of her hair, never even once uttering a single word to Stiles.

"Are you sure you won't reconsider coming to the election, Alan?" Noshiko asked. "It should be a blast."

"Your attempts at casual humor about this aside," Deaton responded. "We've discussed this before. I don't entirely agree with this course of action."

"Yes, I know." Noshiko admitted. "But you are still behind it."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I want to be there to witness it." Deaton confided. "I'm perfectly capable of catching the fireworks from here."

"Goodbye, Alan." Noshiko leaned in and exchanged a kiss on the cheek with Deaton.

"Goodnight, Noshiko." Alan said in reply and stepped aside, as she swept away toward the exit. Before she could reach for the door, however, there was a shout from the opposite hall Dr. Deaton and Mrs. Yukimura had walked from. The hall that led to the secure ward, where they kept the real psychos.

Or, at least Stiles thought he heard a shout.

When he looked up, he met the concerned brown eyes of his boss, who was crouching down in front of him where he still sat on the floor, the papers all neatly organized around him.

"'M sorry." Stiles said, focusing on Deaton. "What?"

"I asked if you were alright?" Deaton clarified.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Stiles forced a grin past his confusion. "I guess I just spaced while organizing the papers. I'll be done in a second."

"Stiles, they are done." Deaton pointed out and Stiles looked around and saw everything was in fact in neatly organized piles, each with a piece of paper paperclipped to the front that bore Stiles' messy scrawl. "Plus, you were supposed to leave half an hour ago." Unable to stop the shock from passing over his face, Stiles glanced over toward the grandfather clock in the foyer and saw that Deaton was right. Two hours had gone by and Stiles hadn't even been aware of it. Turning back to Deaton, he slapped on a smile.

"Guess time really does fly when your having fun." Stiles joked. "So much fun." Deaton graced Stiles with one of his rare chuckles.

"Why don't you get your stuff and go home, Stiles." Deaton said gently, grabbing some of the files and standing up while Stiles grabbed the rest and also rose to his feet. "Go get some sleep." Stiles placed the files down and grabbed his jacket and keys before moving toward the exit. "Oh, and Stiles." The young man paused, hand on the open door and looked back toward his boss.

"Yeah?"

"Do me a favor and lay off your pills tonight."

"Sure, sure." Stiles laughed at the absurdity of him not taking his Adderall before he left, waving over his shoulder. Striding across the grass of the front lawns toward the employee parking lot where his beat-up blue jeep sat, waiting for him. "Hey, baby." He climbed into the driver's side before putting the key in the ignition and starting the engine. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."

**- IN AND OUT OF TIME -**

"Seriously, dad." Stiles berated a man in a Sheriff's uniform as he sat down at the kitchen table, automatically reaching for the containers of fast food he'd gotten on his way home from the station. Stiles, being both younger and quicker, snagged the bag before his dad could reach for the greasy heart-attack on a bun that lurked inside.

"Stiles!" The Sheriff looked at his son, his patience thinning.

"Don't give me that." Stiles scolded his father. "I made a salad and you're going to sit there and enjoy it." The dark-haired young man placed a large bowel filled with lettuce and other vegetables before his father along with a bottle of healthy salad dressing. The Sheriff looked from the healthy bowl his son had placed before him before turning his head to stare longingly at the bag of fast food still his Stiles' grip. Seeing this, Stiles rolled whiskey-colored eyes. "If you eat the whole salad, you can have the burger."

"Wait a second." the Sheriff of Beacon Hills leaned back in his kitchen chair. "I'm the parent here." He crossed his arms over his broad chest and stared down his son. "I make the rules." Stiles snorted at that statement and moved toward the trash can, holding the bag over the receptacle.

"Eat the salad or I'll cook nothing but tofu for the next month." Stiles threatened, giving his father his own version of the cop stare, learned from many afternoons at the Sheriff's station. Father and son stared each other down before the Sheriff eventually sighed in a defeat and leaned forward, grabbing a fork and impaling some lettuce and tomatoes on the end. Grinning in victory, Stiles returned the bag of greasy food to the kitchen table before grabbing his father a glass of water to go with dinner. Setting it down before his dad, he grabbed the fries from the bag and moved to leave the kitchen, getting an outraged shout from his father.

"I said you could have the burger." Stiles pointed out, popping one of the curly fries into his mouth. "I didn't say anything about the fries." The younger of the two men raised another fry to his lips before munching on it, smiling at his dad the entire time. "Night dad." Stiles called over his shoulder. "If you don't eat that whole salad, I'll know." The Sheriff grinned to himself before getting up and heading toward the fridge, pulling out the bottle of A1 steak sauce sauce that he brought over and dumped on his salad to make it more eatable.

Upstairs, Stiles opened up his laptop and saw that Scott was not on Skype, which meant he was probably still at Lydia's fundraiser and Malia was away for the weekend, shopping with her mother and sister, leaving Stiles all alone with nothing to do and no one to talk to. This wasn't the first time he cursed his decision to not pursue college right away and go get a life of his own. All of his friends from high school had gone off and done something with their lives.

Scott was a nurse, taking care of dying people and okay, it was kind of morbid, but it was Scott. He hated to see people suffer. Lydia was about to become the youngest member of the United States Congress, no matter what the polls happened to currently say regarding the situation. Jackson, the pompous asshat, was a wildly successful actor in Hollywood, and according to all the gossip magazines, was romantically involved with Lydia, though Stiles thought that might all just be a publicity stunt. Danny had gone off and joined the Marines, using his considerable computer skills to protect the country. Everyone had gone off and gotten a life, leaving Stiles behind, stuck in a rut of monotony.

Finishing off the rest of the fries, Stiles dropped the empty container into the trash can next to his desk before moving toward his dresser and grabbing a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt to sleep in. He travelled to his in-suite bathroom and washed up, changing into his sleep attire all on auto-pilot while he thought about his day. However, when he got to the part of his nightly routine when he had to take his pills, he paused, Deaton's earlier words bouncing around in his head.

Normally, whenever someone suggested he simply took too many pills and that he should maybe dial them back a bit, Stiles simply disregarded them. He needed his pills to help keep his ADHD in check. He's been told that ever since his mother died and his hyperactivity really started to kick in. But Deaton's words...

It was like they were echoing in his head, over and over and Stiles decided, just this once, to not take the pills.

Putting the prescription bottle back on the sink, never even opened, Stiles turned back toward his bedroom, flicking off the lights as he went. Once under the covers, he found himself drifting off to sleep surprisingly fast. Usually, we would lay awake for an hour or two, contemplating the mysteries of life... or the history of circumcision, whichever. But tonight, he was out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

And he dreamed. Another thing the didn't normally happen.

**- IN AND OUT OF TIME -**

_Stiles looked up when he heard the shout from down the hall, a man flying through the air and sliding across the tile. The unconscious man rolled over onto his back and Stiles could see it was Brunski, the sociopathic head orderly who took way too much pleasure out of taunting and tormenting the patients at Eichen House. Striding out of the hall was a tall woman, darker skinned, maybe Indian. Indian as in India, not Native American. Her eye were glowing read and several of the patients of Eichen House huddled around her, their eyes glowing as well, but not as brightly. They all looked savage, like rabid animals, not the usual, medicated and docile lunatics he was used to dealing with. Not that he actually got to deal with them._

_Several of the crazies rushed forward and Dr. Deaton moved in a manner that Stiles honestly didn't think he had in him. Everything happened so fast, as they tend to in dreams, with the images he was seeing blurring and fragmenting in odd ways. In a series of quick, decisive blows, Deaton knocked out his patients, their eyes no longer glowing as they lost conciousness. Nearby, Noshiko also easily dispatched several nut jobs before moving toward the woman who wasn't crouched and snarling with primal rage. The two women exchanged blows in that hyper-surreal way of dreams until a blade flashed out of nowhere and Mrs. Yukimura fell, his throat a bleeding red mess._

_During all this commotion, Stiles had jumped from his seated position on the floor and flailed backward as one of the patients charged toward him, knocking them both backward and to the ground again. Sitting propped against the desk for some unknown reason was a baseball bat, which Stiles promptly grabbed and swung, hitting the patient about the head and knocking him out cold._

_As Stiles climbed back to his feet, he witnessed Deaton moving to intercept the Indian woman, but she moved toward Stiles first, easily knocking aside the baseball bat and twisting him into the circle of her arms, blade to his throat. Several more orderlies rushed out of the other halls, a few of them supporting guns, which would be way more shocking if he didn't currently have a knife to his throat._

_"Let me out of here." The woman growled, the blade pressing closer to his skin, drawing a thin line of blood and causing Stiles to whimper, try as he might to stop it._

_"No." Deaton's voice was a deep and calm as ever, holding out a hand to keep the orderlies with their pistols back, though they kept their firearms trained on Stiles and the woman._

_"Maybe I'll just tear his pretty little throat out." The woman growled, pressing the blade even closer._

_"Not here you won't." Alan said simply, his voice not higher or lower than usual, utterly calm. Surprisingly, it had an effect, the blade falling away from his neck while the hand gripping his wrists loosened, allowing Stiles to slide away and fall to the floor in his haste to escape, sliding backward on his backside and gazing in fear at the woman who had attacked him. Her eyes were no longer growing and now staring at Dr. Deaton in shock as her body trembled, like she was trying to move but couldn't. The entire time, Deaton simply stared at her, his gaze deep and endless, pining her to the spot._

_While the two entertained a staring contest, Mrs. Yukimura approached, her throat stained red with her own blood but bearing no wound of any kind. In her hand was a hypothermic needle, the syringe filled with some unknown liquid. The Indian woman's gaze attempted to flicker to the Japanese woman approaching, but Deaton's gaze held her steady. Noshiko Yukimura injected the violent woman with the contents of the syringe and her eyes immediately began to droop, her limbs slackening. The knife in her hand clattered to the ground, quickly followed by her body, Mrs. Yukimura stepping back and letting the orderlies come forward to collect her and take her back to wherever she had broken out of._

_Only as they were carting her unconscious body away did Mrs. Yukimura dare to grace Stiles with a gaze._

_"The boy." She nodded in his direction and Stiles watched as Dr. Deaton also turned his eyes to him. The dark-skinned doctor quickly closed the distance and crouched down before Stiles, the first traces of emotion entering his gaze since this started: concern._

_"Stiles." Deaton said in his perpetually calm voice. "I need you to look at me." Stiles found himself looking away from the blood-stained figure of Noshiko Yukimura and turning to look into the deep brown orbs of Alan Deaton. "You're going to forget now, Stiles." As Deaton spoke, Stiles felt his mind calming, even though he knew he shouldn't have. His vision began to blacken around the edges, slowly darkening, spiraling inward until there was nothing but Deaton's face. A moment later, there wasn't even that, just the blackness._

_"And then you're going to remember."_

* * *

_So, Stiles' missing time isn't like Ethan's from his story "In the Mirror." But there is a reason behind it, I just can't tell you what it is yet. That's part of the surprise. Though, if you guessed it, I would be super happy._

_Also, in case you didn't really grasp it, that scene in the end is a dream._


End file.
